


Some Little Act of Charity

by Fickle_Obsessions



Series: Sweet Baby, I Need Fresh Blood [4]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Biting, Blood, Dom/sub, M/M, S&M, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-08 00:30:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7735987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fickle_Obsessions/pseuds/Fickle_Obsessions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America's Founding Vampires.  George Washington is the sire of a coven (more like harem) of vampires.</p>
<p>Ben Tallmadge and the realization that the thing he's been waiting for his whole life can be given to him by a monster. Follows immediately after "Help Me Out The Shape I'm In."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Little Act of Charity

Ben is already in unknown territory when Washington tells him. Son of a preacher, studying to follow in his footsteps and he’s already spent himself on the floor boards while facing the wall, both hands pressed against it with a strict order not to move. He did so with Washington behind him, one hand wrapped around his cock and stroking as slowly or as quickly as suited only him. While he teased, his other hand would switch between two points, Ben’s left wrist, pressing it harder against the wall, and Ben’s hair, grabbing a fistful at the base of his skull and tugging.

His hand, so strong that Ben knows there’s no escaping it, was in his hair when Ben tipped over the edge. Ben expected to be turned and shoved to his knees, even bent a little to get ready. But Washington only holds him, head hanging down so that he could tuck his face into Ben’s neck. Ben tries to be patient, but eventually he rubs his hips back, needy.

Washington leaves him, walks away with Ben still standing there with his cock out and his hands pressed against the wall. Ben shivers, suddenly cold, but stays still, wondering if he did something wrong.

He hears Washington sit down, a soft rustle of fabric, sharp creak of wood. He waits.

“Come here, Benjamin,” Washington says, finally. Ben drops his hands, stares at the wall for another moment while he tucks himself away and does up the buttons to his breeches. He turns around, and finds Washington, seated again in a chair meant only for one. Ben goes over to him and kneels, has his face taken in that soft, cool hand again.

“I need you to stay very calm, my dear boy. And I need you to think first of what you know of me after all these long weeks of visits. And of what I can do for you, what I can give you. Can you do that?”

Ben nods, slowly, a little frown of suspicion forming between his brows. He has already come up with a dozen things Washington might say, all of them unpleasant, but he was told to be calm.

Washington takes Ben’s hand and lifts it up carefully presses the tips of Ben’s fingers to his neck. Presses until Ben feels cool skin, and muscle beneath that. He blinks up at Washington, wondering what revelation he is supposed to be having. Washington reaches down and plucks Ben’s other hand up, presses that to his own neck.

He feels hot as a fever, and. And the vein beneath his fingers throbs, pushing against them in time with every pump of his heart. His fingers on Washington’s skin, however, feel only a perfect, unnatural stillness.

The little frown of confusion deepens. “I am afraid,” Washington says as he allows Ben to take back both of his hands. “That I am not like you.”

“Like me, sir?”

“I can show you, I think that will make things clearer. But remember, Ben, stay very calm, and think of everything. Not just your fear.”

Ben nods, feeling more and more uneasy. His stomach drops when Washington produces a little dagger from the inner folds of his jacket. God, Benjamin Tallmadge, what have you gotten yourself into? But Washington does not attack him, takes the dagger instead to the back of his own hand. Ben watches the blood well up from the cut with a gasp, clueless as to why Washington would harm himself. But then Washington takes a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes it away. The cut is already healed. More than healed. It’s as if it never existed.

Ben has a sensation of a great deal of air rushing past his ears.

 

His new lord is a vampire. Every morning Ben wakes up and tells himself this again as he looks out the window.

Vampires are not silly stories, or superstitious myths. They are as tangible and as real as wolves or lions or any other creature the preys upon man. They drink blood and with the vigor it confers hold you down upon a bed and listen to you beg with a faint, patient smile. They are calm, indifferent killers that will, after giving you a set of bruises that feel so impossibly good, spread you across their chest and cradle you while you breath in long deep sighs. Washington will patiently allow Ben endless time to drift in the quiet and stillness that his dominion over Ben causes. The only price he exacts for it, other than the bruises, is the right to listen to Ben’s heart, press his mouth to Ben’s neck and contemplate the blood coursing just beneath it.

Every morning Ben waits for terror or disgust to overwhelm him, and every afternoon he goes to the little stone house inhabited by Washington and his vampires. Ben never has to ask for anything there, Washington finds all of Ben’s secrets and brings them out into the light. Pulls his hair, holds him down, bends him over a table and smacks the back of his thighs, and listens to Ben moan. He makes Ben kneel, naked or clothed, just because it pleases him to look at Ben that way. He gives Ben little tests, makes him read from Hamilton’s books and punishes him for stuttering even though it was the feeling of Washington’s fingers stretching him open that made Ben lose his place.

Ben never asks for any of it but he gets it anyway, and the quiet that comes along with it. The rush of pride when he sees real delight on Washington’s face, honest pleasure. Washington calls him lovely, beautiful, rare, and precious and Ben is not allowed to contradict, not allowed to look away and think ‘no.’

Except.

“I wish you would-” comes flying out of his mouth, one day. Washington had him strip and has been running the tips of his fingers over Ben’s skin for what feels like hours. Ben has stayed still the entire time but a pressure, a want was building and he let it get the better of him.

“Wish I would what?” Washington asks.

And now saying it is an order. Ben struggles, swallows and considers a hundred different ways to say it. “You’ve never. I can tell that you- that you want to.” He cuts himself off but Washington is patient. “You touch my neck all the time but you never,” Ben stops before the word he can’t say.

“You want me to feed on you?” Washington asks.

“Don’t you want to?”

“Very much,” Washington says, pressing his palm flat to Ben’s chest and sliding it up to his neck, to touch the pulse that is now beating in double time. “But not so much to risk losing you.”

Ben sighs. Nods. “I’m sorry, I only- I thought that you would want. That.” He disobeys to distract Washington, tries to sit up and kiss him when he’d been told to keep still. Washington’s hand slips into an effortless hold on Ben’s neck and keeps him down.

He feels better, having to breathe carefully under Washington’s hand. He shuts his eyes and hopes that Washington will treat him a little roughly. He deserves it. He needs it to stop thinking about how he’d just made a fool of himself.

“Turn over, Benjamin,” Washington says instead, making Ben responsible for complying. He does immediately, turns onto his stomach and rests his cheek on his crossed arms. Washington slips his fingers into Ben’s hair, tugs, a gesture Ben has come to understand is one of perfect fondness. Then Washington’s hand slides down the length of Ben’s spine with a heavy pressure, making the bones curve beneath it. It comes to rest at the small of Ben’s back.

“You must understand that I can’t risk striking a vein,” Washington says.

Ben nods, miserable, not wanting to hear anything more about how he had overstepped his bounds. “Yes, sir.”

Washington continues, “But since you’ve never asked for anything before.”

Ben has time enough to ask, “Sir?” before Washington’s teeth sink right into the curve of his ass. It hurts, four points of piercing pain along with a lines of a duller, unrelenting pressure. Ben gasps, a startled intake of breath that he tries to hold, but that makes the pain worse. He begins to pant through it, shivers and holds himself still until he can relax into it by degrees, until his breathing is less panicked, less frightened. All at once the pressure releases, disappears, sharpness of the pain becoming a buzzing sort of heat. Soon Ben’s breathing is even again, his eyes are closed and he feels easy.

Washington’s thumb swipes over the small punctures, makes them sting, and Ben hisses. Washington licks the blood from the pad of his thumb, and leans over Ben. He gets his mouth near his ear and murmurs, “Is that what you wanted?”

Ben’s too far gone to realize Washington has caught him out on his lie, the fiction that he only wanted to give it because Washington wanted it. Answers, “Yes,” on a relieved exhale. Rolls his hips against the mattress and hopes Washington will do it again.

Washington chuckles at him, gives his highest praise yet. “You may be too perfect, Benjamin.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title of this story and series from "Fresh Blood" by Eels. Find me on [tumblr](http://fickleobsessions.tumblr.com) where there's an ever lengthening [vampire tag.](http://fickleobsessions.tumblr.com/tagged/the-vampire-harem-sensation-that%27s-sweeping-the-nation)


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